


Jack Kline Suffers and Loves Star Wars

by CaptainShade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autistic Jack Kline, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Cas and Sam are Jack's dads, Gen, I have nothing in here about the depression beard, I'm Sorry, Jack Kline Gets a Hug, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Jack Kline unironically loves Star Wars, Jack Kline-Centric, Jack says one curse word in his mind, Kidnapping, Mild Cursing, Season 14 Supernatural, he has anxiety, it was a stressful situation, obviously, the poor dear, to be fair, what kind of Sam Stan am I, yaaaaay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 10:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainShade/pseuds/CaptainShade
Summary: Exactly what the title says. Plus a lot of contemplation. I wrote this in like 4 hours with no planning ahead, fight me.





	Jack Kline Suffers and Loves Star Wars

Most of the supernatural community knew that there was a nephilim; hell, most of them had been looking for him at some time or another, including Hell itself.

What most of them didn’t know was that Jack Kline wasn’t quite so powerful anymore.

One other thing most of the supernatural community knew is that really powerful spells require really powerful items, up to and including DNA, blood, teeth, nails, etc. of a very powerful being such as one Jack Kline.

And the last thing that most of the supernatural community knew is that if you make big enough of a ruckus, the Actual Winchester Clan (which, as far as they knew, contained two scary af hunters, an angel that was slightly less angelic than those who had been involved with the apocalypse, the nephilim Jack Kline, and some other on-again-off-again allies who may or may not be dead at any given point in time) will definitely come find you, and that leads to the biggest chance to nab one Jack Kline.

Of course, there would have to be some kind of wards or binds or whatever that would actually work on a nephilim, and so that took some searching, but eventually, a team made of two witches (not Alicia and Max, although they were twins), a werewolf, two vampires, and a couple demons that were waiting for Crowley to come back to life were able to find all the ritual components for turning off a nephilim’s powers.

So, after creating a ruckus in a Midwestern town awfully close to the Bunker (for better or worse), they waited.

As guessed, it only took a couple days for the Boys to catch wind of the case and go investigate--apparently, a case that showed signs of four different creatures warranted the Actual Winchesters and not just the teams of Apocalypse World hunters that the typical monster of this world knew little about, so quit talking about it!

And so, the team’s plans were turning out spectacularly.

* * *

 One of the many strange words Jack Kline heard from Dean Winchester in his approximate year spent together was “suck.”

He didn’t think he meant the process of pulling various substances through a narrow opening, so upon questioning his fathers about it--Castiel ended up lecturing him about how strange human speech habits were, and Sam actually giggled (alcohol makes ordinary things more funny than they were normally) before explaining it--he used it more often in his own mind.

But right now, he was aware of two things that Sucked in his life right then--hunting without powers, and the level of human occupancy in the Bunker.

There were so many people, more people in one room than he had been around yet, and so much noise. ‘Angel Radio’ may have felt like a spike in his skull but the noise level in the Bunker just decimated any control he had on his ‘anxiety,’ which is what his fathers called it. After he looked it up to make sure it wasn’t a spell, he found that it was just a sensory perception thing--he could fall victim to his own mind and senses now that he was human, unfortunately. You would think that if scientists could create entire body parts and organs out of plastic, they could figure out how to keep brains from attacking their host.

However, no such thing yet.

And this is why he was sitting on one of the beds in the latest motel room, watching Star Wars on the television, and stroking the ears of the weighted toy wolf that Sam had got him after his first nightmare and resultant ‘meltdown’ after becoming human. It helped, possibly more than either of his fathers thought it would. When he woke up in panic from a dream he couldn’t remember, not being able to hear and sense where everyone was, not able to feel his wings, the weight pushed him down into the bed so he could remember what happened.

He was watching The Force Awakens, which was his favorite one so far, when the door slammed open from the outside and Dean stormed in.

“We need to go, right now, no arguing!” he yelled, grabbing his gun from his waistband. Jack slid off the bed and followed, getting to the Impala with only one disturbance of a vampire on the way.

“A friggin _team_ of monsters are working together, so we were ambushed and Sammy and Cas got taken. They were coming after you next so got out of there, now you’re gonna stay in the car while I get them and get the hell out of here. Don’t come in after us, clear?”

He didn’t wait for a response--not normal human behavior!--before yanking the car door open and running to the warehouse--how typical.

Jack had no idea how long he was going to end up waiting out here, and that was especially worrying because it could get really cold in the Impala during the winter, now that he was human. Which also Sucked.

Oh well.

He shifted to sit cross-legged on the bench seat, tapping his fingers on the roof. His eyes closed involuntarily, and he sighed.

Okay, there were a few things nice about being human.

Time was meaningless. He sat there, drumming his fingers on the ceiling to the music his family listened to, for who-knew-how-long.

But then, everything had to go wrong, because, he was learning, that’s what it always does.

He was just sitting there peacefully when the window exploded inward, pieces of glass hitting him in the face and torso; there was a word--probably Latin--shouted, a brief burst of heat, and then everything was dark.

* * *

The first things he noticed when he finally woke up was that his mouth was unbearably dry and his head hurt. He groaned when the light spiking through his eyelids caused his head to throb.

“Look who’s finally awake. God. Wanted to join the party, huh?” There was a stranger. His brain woke up a little more. There was a stranger, it was cold, and his arms were tied to a chair. That probably didn’t mean anything good.

“I was hoping you would wake up before we started. It’s always more exciting when you yell.” There was yet another vampire.

“There’s no reason to draw this out, let's just get what we need. What did Danny say we needed?” A female witch. Could possibly be an ally later, seems more focused on the goal than on causing pain.

“That’s Daniel to you, be respectful. We need two teeth, a molar and a canine, the longest fingernail from the dominant hand, blood--no specifics for that one--and a chunk of hair--also no specifics.”

The sadist vampire spoke up first. “I’ve got the teeth. Are we gonna guess right hand?”

“Yeah, that’s the norm. You, witch, go watch for the other three, make sure they don’t interrupt.”

“Sure, stick me with lookout duty,” she mumbled, but did it anyway.

Jack thinks he should probably be more concerned than he is right now, but they obviously need him for his power, and he doesn’t have it anymore; however, he can’t really communicate that because the vampire has his head pulled back at a really uncomfortable angle by his hair, and he can’t breathe well enough to try and construct a good argument for why they should let him go.

Besides, his family will be coming soon, and he doubts they will try to kill him--they think he’s still powerful.

An average-sized blade appears--probably from inside a jacket--and someone--a werewolf maybe?--flips his arm over and slices it with the knife. Jack squeezes his eyes shut and recites the names of all the sith lords.

A bowl is handed off to someone else, who flips his arm back over and holds the bowl under the cut.

He should probably be trying to get away, but his focus is just out of reach, and he can’t coordinate any movement with his body. Drugs? Drugs.

And he should really try to focus more on what’s going on because he swore the lady demon didn’t have anything in her hand a second ago and now there’s pliers there, gripping one of his fingernails and _wow swearing sounds a little better now_ shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit pressurepressurepressurepressure and then it finally pops off.

He barely gets a moment to breathe--which is unfortunate, because he actually has to breathe now--and groan--which is weaker than he expected, probably because his trachea is all bent, thanks guys--before the sadist is wrenching his head back farther.

 _Another_ pair of pliers finds its way into someone’s hands, somebody else pries his jaw open, and-- _recite the major characters by appearance in all eight series movies and three standalone movies_ \-- _there’s got to be an animal in here, or a prisoner of theirs, because something is whining_ \--and then there’s blood flooding his throat and yelling and sounds of fighting. His head drops back down, and he breathes in, _stupid_ , chokes on the blood still filling his mouth--his own blood--and eventually manages to spit it out and take a full breath without actively dying.

“Jack! Jack, are you okay? C’mon kid, lets get out of here. Can you hear me?” His dad. He shouldn’t can’t worry Sam, even if he can’t talk. He manages a nod, trying not to upset the headache that’s come back full force.

Most of the night after that is kind of a blur of exhaustion, pain, cold on the sore spots. But, even though being a human still Sucked a lot, the good things kind of made up for it, a little--finally getting to lay down in a bed with his father (Castiel, not Sam), buried under the warm(ish) blankets of the iffy motel bed, with the wolf back on his torso, and actually getting to sleep.  

 


End file.
